December 31, 2003

Ah, cigarette.
Such a good friend, a loyal companion.
You burn for me, and no one else
And in you lies the focus of my fleeting attention.
The familiar touch of your paper skin between my fingers,
The soft pressure of your body against my lips,
The gentile caress of your dry, fiery breath,
Allows me, for a moment,
To forget my anxiety.
Your kiss, a playful tendril of soft, warm smoke
Dances around my tongue.
They say you are killing me,
But your mortality is far more imminent than my own.
Yes, good friend, your life is brief.
Your scorched remnant, spent, falls to the ground,
And passes from my hand in death–
Leaving me, again, lonely.
But wait, what’s this?
[pulls out another cigarette]
Ah, yes. Reincarnation.

December 24, 2003

It was a perfect time to meditate, and I was excited because I hadn’t done it in such a long time. With a life torn between class and homework and parties and living in a college dorm with a roommate, it had been several months since I really got the chance. Now that I was back in my old familiar bedroom in my parents’ house while staying at home for the holiday, I had the perfect opportunity to do what I hadn’t done in so long. I grabbed the big white pillar candle I always use and lit it, watching the tiny blue flame enlarge, brighten, flicker and then become steady and precise, hoping my mind would follow suit. I lay back in bed and held the candle on my bare chest, gazing intensely at the tongue of fire, trying to lose myself in the consistency which is what would bring me into the meditative state. In a flicker, reality was gone, and I was in another place.

I was dreaming of pain. Acid dripping on bare skin, warm teardrops turning to a frothy rage at the instant they come in contact with the solid surface. Hot nails flung through the air, searing as they burrow themselves into human flesh. A million tiny pinpricks. A shadow, a flash, a burn. I felt the pain, and I felt it objectively. I experienced no discomfort, only the acceptance of a reality that I was feeling this, with an almost pleasant curiosity. I was watching the warm yellow glow of a giant mushroom clowd, far in the distance, rumble and churn as it stretched its lanky neck toward the sky, like a flickering candle flame, and then dissolve. Then I woke up.

I opened my eyes to find the candle tilted toward me at a forty-five degree angle. I was still holding the base, but the top hovered in front of me, dangerously near toppling over. Hot wax was pouring off of the candle, dripping on to my skin. My hands were covered in wax. My chest was coated by a hard, thin sheet of cooled wax. The wax had somehow managed to stay warm long enough to ooze across my chest and on to the bed on the right hand side of my body. The translucent white wax contrasted sharply with solid black cotton sheets, and resembled awfully closely a puddle of semen.

I blew out the flame and sat up to peel the wax off of me. Underneath my skin was scalded, but not burned. The wax crumbled off easily and I got up to set the candle aside and dump the white, brittle chips into the trash. I’ve heard of people dying of smoke inhalation from falling asleep while smoking in bed. Evidently, people don’t wake up when a cigarette sets the the bed they are lying in on fire. I believe it now, since I didn’t wake up either when hot wax was pouring on my chest. I suppose I am lucky I didn’t start a fire. I wonder what my nuclear bomb dream would have been like if I had burned to death in the middle of it.

December 22, 2003

Recnt polls are showing that public opinion is swinging away from gay rights in favor of a permanent ban on same-sex marriage. Let me just articulate my feelings on the whole same-sex marriage thing now and hopefully I won’t have to talk about it here ever again.

I have to admit, marriage would be nice. It might be convenient, pleasant, and very warm-fuzzy-like if my future marriage to another man could be recognized by the government. But if it doesn’t happen, I’m not going to get my cock tied in a knot over it.

You see, I don’t need the approval of congress, Mr. Bush, or anyone else in the world to fall in love. Signed legal papers do not a marriage make. All a marriage requires is that me and the person I am in love with agree to spend the rest of our lives together. I don’t give a shit if you or anybody else refuses to shake my and my lover’s hands – it doesn’t mean we aren’t married. If you have a problem with same-sex marriage, don’t fucking get same-sex married, dumb ass, but the fact that you have a problem with it has no effect over the reality that a marriage, same-sex marriage included, is not a public affair and no law or preacher can do shit to keep one from being formed. Me and my boy are gonna do the whole damn thing on our wedding day – we’ll each say “I do” and get pronounced by our Unitarian preacher, we’ll tie the cans to the back of our car as we drive home from the church, and we’ll co-habitate happily every after no matter what kind of bullshit the republican neighbors have to say about it. The only difference between us and any heterosexual married couple is that they get to have their names registered on some stupid government computer.

That’s right, I’m fucking getting married. I haven’t met him yet, but he’s a guy, just like me, he has a big fat cock, just like I do, and we’ll make out in the fucking park in front of the fucking public ducks just like all the fucking hetero couples always do. Fuck you if you don’t think we’re a cute couple, ‘cuz damn it baby, we’re fabulous! It ain’t gonna change jack shit if 71% of the population thinks what were doing is immoral. It ain’t gonna change jack shit if you think that book on your dresser (you know, the one about Jesus that you always talk about but never read) says its a bad thing that we love each other even though we’re both men. Me and my boy are gonna fuck like rabbits whenever we feel like it, and if James Dobson doesn’t like that, he can fucking suck the cum out of my big gay stretched-out asshole. As far as I can recall, I never asked the Moral Majority how it feels about me and my boyfriend’s relationship. Everyone is free to approve of or disapprove of, legislate or decline to legislate, condemn or affirm the love between me and my future husband. Aside from a few hundred lousy bucks in income tax, I can’t really see how it makes a difference to me what the rest of society decides.

Can you get the gist of what I’m saying? Basically, I don’t care what the law says, because for me, marriage is not a legal thing. Those fighting for same-sex marriage often base their whole argument on the fact that marriage is legal and not religious, but really, it isn’t legal at all. Marriage is a personal, romantic, spiritual commitment between two people – and ONLY those people – so politicians are not invited. Like I said, it would be nice if same-sex marriage was publicly recognized and I could feel all warm and tingly when society gives me and my lover a friendly pat on the back, but really, I’m not gonna lose a single moment of sleep if it doesn’t happen.

OK so they left my telecommunications grade (the one I was the most unsure about) blank when I went to check my transcrips online. This bothers me. I hope I passed. There was a group project worth 40% of the grade, and my group turned it in using the wrong format. Hopefully the professor won’t penalize my group too much for the mistake, but we will see. Actually, I’m not that worried about what letter I get – I’ve never cared that much about grades. If I get a D, I’ll cope with it. I just don’t do well with uncertainty. I’ll check back in a few days.

December 20, 2003

Last night I had the best time I’ve ever had at the club. The Fox Hole owner closed the Fox Hole to under 21 but opened a new club a few miles away, and last night was the first time I’ve been to the new one. I danced much more than I usually do at the club and kissed Whitney a few times (eew a girl) which was interesting. We drove there with Adam, who went off and did his own thing while Whitney and I spent the whole evening joined at the hip.

In one part of the building, a large plastic birdcage sat in a corner to give the room a slutty-nightclub appearance (which makes sense, seeing as that’s what it is). Whitney and I walked in to the room later in the evening to see some skinny shirtless boy high on top of the cage rubbing his body against the bars and erotically grasping at the large speaker hanging a few feet above him. “Oh my God. Look at what that boy on the cage is doing,” Whitney said, laughing. After I looked up at the guy, Whitney and I both realized at the same moment that it was Adam. Ho-ly-fuck. It was interesting. Neither of us had any problem with it or anything; it’s just something we didn’t expect to see. We both laughed.

A gorgeous guy stared at me for a few seconds. He was so attractive that I was uncomfortable each of the few times we made eye contact throughout the night. Later on he said hey and grabbed my hand at shoulder level the way straight guys do that masculine I’m-your-buddy handshake. I didn’t see him again after that. Hopefully, we’ll come across each other some other time.

December 16, 2003

My roommate is out again for Winter Break, and I have the room to myself until Friday when they kick us all out until next semester. As was true in the days before Thanksgiving break, I can now enjoy my solitude as an opportunity to contemplate and get to know myself a little better. That is, a qualified solitude this time. I have a guy staying with me for a few days because his apartment is in Longmont, his school and job are here in Boulder, and his car is too unreliable to take him that distance. During the day he works and goes to school and sometimes we spend a few hours hanging out. Because of him, my nights are shared with an unbelievably hot, thin, friendly and personable gay guy who likes to sleep naked.

One might consider this a gift from God, some sort of divine blessing bestowed upon an individual as apology for letting history be written in the way that it was. Maybe God is saying, “look, dude, I’m sorry about that whole Bible thing that makes it so tough for you gays down there – let me just make it up to you for a while.” Or maybe “I’m sorry for all that shit you’ve been through with your mom and all. Here, try this instead.” Probably not. When you are trying to cope with the situation I am coping with, you wonder if it could be less a blessing and more a curse. You realize that it is incredibly difficult to sleep when you have a cute naked guy in bed with you and you haven’t masturbated in over three weeks. You realize that his late night obsession with loud online music videos is threatening your relationship with the neigbors in a resedence hall with unusually thin walls. You realize that, no matter how comfortable around him you are, at least a little privacy is sacrificed by having another person in the room, and the solitude you had been hoping for has been pretty much drawn to nill. You realize that having someone in close physical proximity doesn’t do shit in keeping you from feeling lonely.

All in all, I’m glad he’s here. I’ll get my alone time later when I’m home for Christmas Break, which will hopefully be really good for me. I’ll get some good family time too, where I can talk to people who have been with me my whole life so don’t need to be filled in on all the background information. Then it’s off to trying to find my diverse friends in Boulder to fill all my many, complicated needs. I need an older (or just wise beyond his or her years) friend to be mature with, a smart friend to be intellectual with, an attractive friend to be flirty with, a cute girl to be friendly with, a best friend to be honest with (well, second best, since I can’t replace the old friends I have at home), and all the et cetera I need. It would be nice to have it all in one person but it’s not going to happen any time soon. This is just what I want for now. Wish me luck.

December 15, 2003

I think I’m getting addicted to cigarettes. I smoked two today and the second I was done with the second one, I wanted another. It sucks if I’m getting hooked because I love smoking so much – I would hate if I had to stop doing it because I’m getting addicted. I’d have to control it though, because I can’t let a substance control me. I’m not letting anything control me right now. I gave a friend, Denise, my pack, telling her to keep it from me until she goes home for winter break on Wednesday. That way I won’t be tempted to smoke for a few days and maybe I’ll stop the addiction in it’s tracks. I really want to have my cigarettes with me at the gay club on Thursday though, because I’ll need something to smoke while I’m there.

I’ve had a lot of drama lately, but I don’t want to get into it. It’s in the past, so I suppose that means I should forget about it. You know, it’s very easy to forget about things that happen and mistakes people make but it’s very hard to forget about the people. I’m going back to ground level, to where I’m checking out every cute guy I see and wondering if he’s gay. Maybe I’m not ready to like someone right now but it sure as hell would make me happy if it happened anyway.

It’s been my mom’s birthday since midnight.

I talked to my mom on the phone today. I told her for the first time about liking someone, because she needs to get over the fact that I’m gay and realize that me liking boys is a reality. She took it very well. She thinks the recent situation got bad because that was God’s way of telling me I need a girl instead of a guy, but she still accepts that whatever is meant to be is in God’s hands – she realizes that I may someday be with a guy after all. She’s getting better about things.

So it’s back to ground level, where I can write about positive things, make cool friends, and just be happy. I’m going to the club on Thursday. Maybe I’ll meet a guy. Maybe I’ll meet someone from Boulder soon who is attractive and witty and takes sex and relationships as seriously as I do. Maybe he’ll be sweet and stable and honest from the beginning. And if he’s not all those things, at least he will be friendly and respectful, and not a bitch, which is the most important of all. Here’s to hoping.

December 12, 2003

I did fabulously on my telecommunications final today. (Ooooh, doesn’t that word just… pop!?) I was sure I was going to fail, and I probably did poorly on the homework and projects I turned in throughout the course, but I did much better than expected on the final. Telecom sucks; it’s extremely boring, tedious, redundant, and focuses on information that few really need to know. I didn’t try very hard at all. I read books or fell asleep during almost every lecture, and often didn’t go to the lectures. The class just seemed so pointless, and paying attention was quite literally painful. Yet, going into the final after almost no studying and very little knowledge about the topic, I did great. Achieving something good after hard work and a long struggle is a wonderful feeling, but NOTHING BEATS NOT TRYING!!!

I gave up on a relationship yesterday. Not that I had a choice but to give up after he got pissed at me for something. Out of all the guys I’ve ever been attracted to, this was the guy I liked the most. I liked him because I felt like he liked me more than anyone I’ve been interested in ever has, plus his looks and personality were more attractive to me than the other guys’ were. But some shit happened, (VERY long story) when tragedy struck his life, which made things really difficult and stressful. I was willing to put up with anything though, because I liked him a lot, felt that he liked me too, and had very much sympathy for him after what happened. He said he wasn’t ready for a relationship after the incident, which was fine, until I realized how painful it would be to linger on the edge of something I wanted sooo bad but couldn’t have. Being the way that I am, I stuck around and continued to be optimistic, making myself very depressed as I held my breath waiting for the good moments with him. Everything happened in a very short period of time. Suddenly last night he got upset saying I talked shit about him, though I think there was something deeper going on because the “shit” I was talking wasn’t anything bad about him. I had only been talking to someone about how I was stressed out lately and why. I think the guy I liked thought I disapproved of him somehow. Or he might have been getting fed up with me before that moment and needed a catalyst. Or maybe the guy I was supposedly talking shit to exaggerated or took something I said out of context before he passed it on. Anyway, I have no idea what the guy I talked to told the guy I liked, but I do know that there was a big explosion and suddenly the relationship was over. At first I got really upset but as I walked it off I realized that a big stress in my life was gone, so maybe it’s a good thing after all. I will miss him a lot, I still like and respect the guy very much, but I’m not going to flip bitches on ceilings over this. It feels good to be out of that situation. I’d like to continue to be friends, but that’s up to him. There’s no sense in getting anxious or upset when there’s really nothing I can do. No cutting myself, no laying in the snow, no starving myself for a week. No banging my head on the walls, either.

After my fabulous stress-reducing walk, I smoked a fabulous cigarette, had a fabulous four-hour night’s sleep, and went to take my fabulous telecom final, and completed it, fabulously. And I still have fourteen fabulous jades in my fabulous first pack ever, which will last me months because I smoke them so fabulously rarely. Hallelujah. I still have fourteen fabulous hours in this day, and nineteen fabulous days to go before the year is over. And that’s all I have to say about that.